Quicker Than Heaven
by Bad Company
Summary: Okay, so a threeshot. After all the dust has settled, Holly adjusts to the day to day with the club. Tig/Holly fluff...cuz Tig's so fluffy ya know.
1. Quicker Than Heaven

**Disclaimer: Only own Holly. **

This is Tig/Holly set sometime after _Back to Life_. It's a oneshot for now, but may eventually be a twoshot. The title is inspired by "Guinevere" by the Eli Young Band because that song makes me think of Holly for some reason. And my mention of "Bad Girlfriend" is all in jest…I love that song.

…

**Quicker Than Heaven by Bad Company**

"It's her _birthday_, Tig. I know you think presents are for pussies, but you need to do _something_."

Tig frowned and his fingers twitched. Most of the time, he was glad they had Juice around. Other times…well, controlling his reflexes became damn hard.

"I know it's her birthday, dumbass," he said as he continued flipping through the Rolodex. "But if you think I'm doing balloons and cake and shit, you're fucking crazy."

Juice sighed. "Look, man, I never said anything about balloons…hey, what are you doing?"

Tig shook his head. He'd been at Juice's desk for fifteen minutes and he was just now catching on. "Where's Jeff McCoy's number?" he asked, praying for a change of subject.

"The stripper guy?"

"Yeah."

Juice pulled up a second chair and commandeered the Rolodex. He started sorting through the cards at breakneck pace. "You know, I don't think Holly really goes for girl-on-girl stuff if that's what you're thinking…"

This time Tig did hit him. Not hard, just a little thump to the back of his head. "Jesus Christ, not for Holly, for tonight. Goddamn, don't you pay attention?"

Juice frowned and rubbed at his head, but didn't press the issue any further. He popped the card out of its sleeve and passed it over with a frown.

"See? Now how hard was that?" Tig grinned and knocked him on the shoulder as he stood.

"Asshole," Juice muttered.

"Hey, you'll be thanking me later. McCoy's girls are _fantastic_, man."

**-O-**

Holly turned this way and that to study her filmy reflection in the T-M office window. She didn't really look any older, and she figured maybe twenty-seven wasn't too different from twenty-six, but she was starting to feel a little like her hard life was catching up with her. She wondered if she'd have a meltdown when she hit thirty.

"What, lookin' for wrinkles?"

Holly jumped a bit when Gemma came in. "No," she lied, smoothing her hands down the front of her shirt. She watched the Queen get settled behind the desk and wondered what had sparked the question.

As if she could read minds, Gemma looked up and smirked. "A little birdie tells me it's your birthday."

"Would this little birdie happen to have a mohawk and talk waaay too much about other people's business?"

Gemma shrugged and turned her attention to the computer. "He might."

Holly sighed. Her twisted youth had never afforded her a traditional birthday party with presents, friends, and crepe paper streamers. She didn't miss it though. She didn't like to have the spotlight focused on her, didn't want anyone to go to any trouble on her account. She hated that Juice had blabbed. She didn't want any of the SAMCRO people thinking she was some princess who wanted a big fuss made.

"I picked up the things from the store you wanted," Holly said as she edged toward the door. Gemma's feelings for her seemed to have thawed from ice cold to a somewhat room temperature, but she never liked to test that theory. Head down, mouth shut, hands helpful if need be had become her motto. She could relax with Tara, but Gemma was to be respected.

"Thanks," Gemma said distractedly. "You put 'em away for me?"

"Sure."

"Be sure you're around no later than five. I'll need all the girls to help with tonight."

"'Kay." Holly nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, Holly?"

She turned, wary, and was surprised to find the older woman smiling. "Yeah?"

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Holly couldn't help the disbelieving smile that blossomed. "Thank you."

Gemma waved her off. "Aw, it's nothing. Better celebrate before you get to be my age and try to forget 'em."

**-O-**

As it turned out, good old Jeff McCoy was doing five to ten for trafficking charges and couldn't hook the club up with some female entertainment for the evening. For most casual bashes, the regular selection was fine, but this was a patching-in party, and everybody was wanting some quality dancing. So Bobby had formulated the brilliant plan that they invite any interested Crow Eaters and their friends down for an open call on strippers.

As of yet, Tig would have been willing to tip most of them to keep their clothes _on_. The girl currently working the pole had so little skill it was embarrassing. She was a friend of a friend of somebody who knew something about the Sons and her glittered corset number just couldn't make up for her lack of rhythm.

Tig leaned over toward Bobby. "I thought you said we'd find someone_ good_," he hissed.

"Give her a minute," Bobby said. "She's got a hell of an ass…maybe it's just the music. Juice," he leaned around Tig to get to the younger biker. "What the fuck you playin', man?"

He shrugged. "This is a good song," he defended. "'Bad Girlfriend'."

"Yeah, I think _bad _pretty much sums it up," Tig grumbled. He shook his head and waved to catch the girl's attention. "Shit, come on, sweetheart. You can't just walk around the pole, you need to shake something!"

"Tig…"

"What? She's terrible and she knows it. Here, Juice, get up and show her."

Juice started to rise and then stopped, frowning. "Dude…"

Tig laughed at his expression and Bobby sighed.

By this point, the would-be stripper had stopped and had her arms folded across her breasts. She looked pissed more than offended, breathing hard enough to flare her nostrils out.

"That'll be it for now, darlin'," Bobby said. "You can go wait outside with the others."

She stomped off and Tig rolled his head around until the vertebrae cracked. "Jesus, what's with this shit? That was dud number six."

Bobby shrugged and signaled the next one over. She was skinnier than some of the others, but had been stretching while she waited in line. She looked limber enough.

Tig leaned back in his chair so he could grab his smokes off the pool table and caught Holly coming in, arms laden with grocery bags. She paused to push her shades into her hair and frowned.

Her expression made Tig sour. No matter what they professed, chicks just couldn't get past the strippers and the Crow Eaters. They always wanted to be the only one. He was so not in the mood for any of that at the moment.

But Holly seemed to shake herself loose and hustled through the clubhouse toward the kitchen. "Don't mind me, boys. I'm just putting stuff up for Gemma. I'll be outta here in a second."

Tig shrugged and returned his attention to the show. This little redhead was better than the others had been. Lots of hip action. Knew how to grind it going up and down. He turned to nod his approval to Bobby and instead found himself looking all the way across the clubhouse through the open kitchen door. Holly was so short she had trouble with the upper cabinets and was kneeling down to stow stuff under the sink. Her jeans had slid down her hips and the top of her red thong was peeking out above her belt. He'd seen the red number before and knew she had a bra to match. She looked damn good in red. Hell, looked damn good in anything with that perfect little apple ass of hers…

He forced his head back front and center. Hellooo…stripper girl was down to just a pair of lacey boy shorts and had these fabulous nipple piercings with little turquoise balls on them. But if he thought about it…he tilted his head to the side…her tits weren't really big enough for his liking. Jax always ran his mouth about shape and weight, had nothing to do with size…but that was bullshit. He had big hands and he wanted them filled up.

Tig again tried to give Bobby the green light on this one and just wound up seeking out Holly. She was laying things out on the counter and turned just far enough to the side so he could see the perfect S-curve of her silhouette. They just didn't make bitches like that anymore.

"_It's her birthday, Tig. You need to do something."_

"Aw, shit," he grumbled, rising.

"Come on, Tig, you have to admit this one's good," Bobby said. He was starting to sound exasperated.

"Yeah, she's perfect," he tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. "Sign her on. I'll be back in a sec."

**-O-**

Holly heard the kitchen door shut and figured one of the boys was trying to spare her the show that was going on out in the common room. She rolled her eyes to herself.

Hands settled on her hips and she jerked.

"Why the fuck you so jumpy?" she recognized Tig's voice and relaxed.

Holly shrugged and continued sorting ingredients into clusters, even as his hands started to roam. He hooked his thumbs into the front waistband of her jeans and drew them slowly back and forth across her skin.

"Dunno," she said. "Why are you wasting time in here when there's a topless girl out there?"

He ignored the question and moved his hands back to her ass, squeezing and kneading, pushing her forward into the cabinets with the force of his touch. Holly bit down on her bottom lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She felt her cheeks flush and knew that if things continued, they wouldn't stop.

"What're you doing, Tig?" she asked as one of his hands slid down between her legs. His middle finger stroked the thick mid seam in her jeans and she tightened at the contact. "Jesus…come on," she said. "I got stuff to do…"

His goatee rasped against her ear when he spoke. "C'mon, Hol. Those strippers suck."

Her snarky comeback died in her throat as he continued to apply pressure to that magic little knot of fabric. She braced her hands on the counter ledge and leaned back against his chest. Her neck felt suddenly weak and she let her head rest at the front of his shoulder. Her hips started to move of their own accord. God, another minute or so of this and…

Tig backed away until they were no longer touching.

Holly sighed and turned around. She folded her arms and propped a hip against the counter. "What's this about? Are you horny or not?"

She was surprised to find him grinning like an idiot, his smile as wide and mischievous as a little boy's. He sobered a bit when he saw her frown. "I've been itching for a good show all afternoon," he shrugged. "Thought you might be interested."

"Show?"

"Yeah." He closed the gap between them and slid his hands into her back pockets, pulling her into him. "Show."

He was still smiling impishly at her and it was such a rare occasion, Holly couldn't stop her own smile from forming. She scratched her nails lightly against the insides of his forearms, catching on. "Oh, so you're telling me that your little ho-bag sluts don't know how to work it right?"

"They're fucking awful," he said.

Holly pushed her hips into him, grin widening at the feel of his hardness against her belly. She chuckled. "How sad is it you had to come after the same old same old, huh?"

"Don't be a brat," Tig retreated again and held up one index finger that he twirled. "Get goin', sweetheart. Take it off."

Holly had to admit that the look on his face was worth it as she peeled her shirt off over her head. The music out in the common room was blaring and she moved with it, dipping and swaying and spinning. Knowing that his eyes were riveted to every little move stirred her up more than she would have thought. The air became cool against her skin as she heated up, anticipation of what was to come building and leaving her a little breathless.

Tig lasted only until she got down to her bra and panties. Then he managed to set her up on the counter and slide her thong down around her ankles in one quick move. Holly opened her knees and pulled him to her with double fistfuls of his shirt.

"Good?" she questioned as his mouth descended.

He kissed her once on the lips and then moved to her neck, brushing her hair aside and latching on hard enough to leave a mark.

Holly sighed contentedly as she leaned into him and went to work on his belt. Some days it really paid to be Gemma's go-fer.

**-O-**

Sometimes he was frustrated with himself before and after that he even cared, but during, when he was inside her, all Tig could think about was how damn good Holly felt. When he moved inside her, she complimented the motions. He felt her tight nipples against his chest, her breath across his skin. His jeans were around his ankles and her nails dug into his ass as she tried to get him even closer.

He twisted a hand in her hair and tilted her head back so he could watch her smile when she came. Her eyes would always flutter shut, her cheeks would flush, and she made the softest, hottest little sound. Holly didn't scream and thrash, didn't lose her fucking mind like some of the Crow Eaters on the other side of the wall. She concentrated, pushed her body and really enjoyed the sensations.

Sometimes he wondered if it wasn't because she was afraid he'd shove her away. Like she wanted to soak up everything she could and just bask while the opportunity presented itself. Other times he thought maybe it was because sex had been something horrific for her for so long. She had learned to just shut up and take it. Maybe she was reminding herself the whole time that it was him.

Knowing about her trauma had always been such a turn on for some reason. That little twinge of pity was what sent him over the edge and he crushed her against his chest as he thrust into her for the final time.

Holly sagged against him afterward, skin slick with sweat, breasts heaving.

"Now that," Tig said between deep breaths as he scraped her now-damp hair off her face. "Was a show."

**-O-**

By nine that night, the party was in full swing. And out in the main room, Holly could still hear the shouts and spontaneous toasts to the man of the evening. Chibs was the loudest, probably because Half-Sack had been his Prospect, but also because he was just plain loud.

Holly passed the brandy she'd just poured to Happy and he gave a single nod of thanks before rejoining the mayhem. She couldn't place her finger on it, but something about him made her uneasy. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Tig pulled her out of the room every time the Nomad was present.

She swiped the bar top with a rag and then took a moment to survey the room. Clay had actually paid her to take the night off work at Rodney's and serve here at the clubhouse. And she'd been busy all evening. At least two other charters were in town for the bash. The grill was working outside and a whole fleet of Gemma's best girls were running things in the kitchen. Brothers and bitches were everywhere; Crow Eaters, sweetbutts, a handful of brave non-club girls clung to any man they could get to, and the two strippers they'd hired were twirling and grinding on the pole.

At the head of the room, eating up the winks and sultry smiles of the dancers was Half-Sack; his brand spanking new top rocker and reaper shining like beacons under the colored lights. Holly grinned. The kid had made it; finally been patched and deserved every second of his party.

"Hey, hey, birthday girl!" the booming call snapped her back to attention.

Holly pulled a Bud out of the cooler before she even turned to face Chibs. When it was him, there was never any question who was speaking. He and Juice had settled onto stools and both looked a little glassy eyed and happy as hell.

"Hey, boys." She grabbed another beer for Juice and slid both across the bar. "You two get lucky yet?"

"Oh, night's young, just gimme a minute, darlin'," Chibs laughed. He waggled his eyebrows. "What about you?"

Holly shrugged and tried to hide a smile. "Who's to say I didn't get lucky this afternoon?"

The Scotsman laughed and shoved away from the bar. "Just wanted to say 'hi', sweetheart. I'll see ya in a bit."

Holly nodded him off and turned in time to see Juice's failed attempt to stifle a frown. All the laughter had drained out of him in a heartbeat. "You okay?"

He took a swig of his beer and then smiled stiffly. "Yeah, I'm good." He took another pull on the Budweiser and then frowned. "Hey, lemme have a Jack straight up. Make it a double."

Holly went to the back wall to fix the drink and frowned to herself. Juice was still hung up on her and the guilt gnawed at her. But she was with Tig and had made that perfectly clear, he would just have to figure something out.

When she returned to her post, there was a little white box sitting on the bar. Juice offered her a lopsided, sad smile as he picked up his whiskey. "Open it later," he said as he stood. "Happy birthday, Holly."

She stowed the package under the bar and watched his reaper disappear into the throng.

**-O-**

"Hey, girl," one of the dutiful sweetbutts, Carmen, joined her after ten. "Mama says for me to take over for you," she had to lean in close so Holly could hear her above the crowd.

"Really? Why?"

The leggy blond just shook her head and waved out toward the bustling main floor.

Holly stood on her tip toes to scan the crowd and spotted Gemma sitting with Luann and a third woman she didn't recognize. The Queen beckoned with one crooked finger and Holly obeyed, handing her rag off to Carmen.

Gemma put a ringed hand on her shoulder and pulled her in close when she reached the table. "You need to take a break," she said firmly.

Holly leaned back and studied her face, only to find it unreadable. "Are you sure? I don't mind…"

Gemma shook her head. "Tig's over with the boys." She waved once dismissively and then turned away, ending the conversation.

Holly questioned her motives, but she didn't wait around to have the offer rescinded. She maneuvered her way through the crowd toward the ring of men sitting around the elevated platform that supported the stripper pole. Sure enough, Tig was leaned back in one of the leather sofas, beer in one hand, the other occupying the empty space beside him. He was laughing with Bobby about something, shooting occasional glances towards the redhead and brunette who were down to just thongs and working it hard.

Holly slid neatly over the arm of the couch and folded her legs up beneath her as she settled in next to Tig. She half expected to earn a nasty look, and was instead surprised that he draped his free arm over her shoulders. He _never _wanted her rubbing up on him in front of the guys.

He glanced over and almost smiled at her. "Gem turn you loose?"

"Yeah," she grinned, marveling that his mood from earlier seemed to have carried over. "You alright? You need a refill?"

"Nah, I'm good." He took a sip of his beer and then pointed toward the action. "Look at that damn Prospect, drooling like a rookie."

"You're gonna have to stop calling him that," she chuckled. "He's not a Prospect anymore."

"Fuck, man…"

"Hey," Holly rubbed at a spot on his shoulder that always seemed to be sore to catch his attention. His face was, for the first time she could ever recall, completely relaxed. "What's up with you today?" she asked. "You're being _sweet_. And you passed on stripper try outs so we could hook up in the kitchen. You feeling alright?"

He made a face and snorted. "I'm not being _sweet_. And I only passed on the strippers 'cause your ass looked better and I needed to blow off some steam."

Holly rolled her eyes and rested her head against his arm. She'd never get anything halfway chivalrous out of him, why bother? Besides, that wasn't what she was after with him. He was safety all bundled up in a gun-toting, knife-wielding, killer package. She had figured she'd have to wait for death to get a little peace. Life with Tig and the club had proved to be a salvation quicker than heaven, so all the asshole talk didn't get under her skin.

"But…" he said, sounding like he was reluctant to speak. Holly glanced up at the underside of his jaw and caught his frustrated expression. "It is your birthday after all."

Holly felt her mouth fall open. "You remembered?"

"Don't make a thing out of it," he grumbled. "It's your birthday, so…yeah, happy…whatever the hell or something. I dunno." He offered his beer and grinned marginally. "Here, I gotcha a present."

She took a quick sip, passed the bottle back, then stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said soft enough so only he could hear.

When she pulled back, he looked more serious, his eyes sharper. He nodded once, understanding her double meaning. He glanced back toward the makeshift stage and the slightly more single guys who were egging the girls on. But his hand slid up her arm and pinched the side of her breast in a way that could only be affectionate coming from him.

It had been a long day and Holly was starting to feel all the hours in her heavy eyelids. She relaxed against Tig and decided to passively let sleep claim her if it wanted to. There was no way in hell anyone would mess with her, even if she was out cold. Not so long as Tig was around.

**-O-**

Early morning sun filtered through the curtains and Holly sat down on the floor in the milky puddle of light. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and held Juice's present in both hands. The clubhouse was quiet, still asleep after a hard night of partying. Inside the dorm room, Tig's soft snores were the only sounds.

She studied the box and hesitated to open it. It was just the right size and shape for some sort of jewelry, and she knew that if that was the case, she'd never get to wear it. Sighing, she pulled the top off.

Inside was a tightly wound black cord of some kind and a little black square. She pulled the items out. An iPod and a car adapter that would fit into her cigarette lighter.

Holly smiled. The last time he'd been in her Camaro, Juice had complained that she still had _goddamn cassette tapes like a dinosaur _and had suggested one of these. She'd played around with his enough to know how it worked and hit the menu button, surprised to find that it was already loaded with songs. She scrolled through the Eagles, Allman Brothers, Cream, BTO, CCR, Molly Hatchet, Jackyl, Ted Nugent…she smiled. All her favorites were accounted for and then some.

She yawned and decided that she wasn't truly ready to greet the day yet. Holly poked the box and its contents into her overnight bag and climbed back into bed. Tig grumbled sleepily for her to quit "moving the bed around" and she rolled her eyes.

Holly settled back into a comfortable position and found herself ghosting a hand over the bruise at her throat. She shot a look over at Tig's bare back and couldn't help but grin. All in all, it'd been a good birthday.


	2. The Damage of Her Days

**The Damage of Her Days**

"Oh, that sucks, I'm sorry." Holly cradled the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued to pull clothes out of the dryer.

"I already called Neil," Liz sounded like she'd gargled with gravel on the other end. "But I thought I'd let you know too."

Holly gave her fellow bartender a sympathetic grin even though she knew the other girl couldn't see it. She'd been down with whatever junk was going around a few weeks before and it had been nasty. "You just worry about feeling better," she heaped the last of the clean load up on top of the dryer and then started moving the whites into the washer with one hand.

Liz coughed and then cleared her throat. "I appreciate it, girl."

Holly pulled out the knob to start the filling process and then fumbled to get the top off the bleach. She grunted. "No big."

"What're you doing that requires all that manly noise?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "I think Tig used the bleach last and put the cap on crooked. Figures. Men don't know when to stop twisting…"

Suddenly the cap came popping off. Unprepared, Holly scrambled to catch the bottle, but the bleach tipped sideways. In one horrific, slow-mo moment, she watched the liquid splash across the clothes she'd just removed from the dryer.

"Shit! Shit shit shit!" she snatched the bottle up and set it back on the shelf.

"What?"

"I just spilled bleach fucking everywhere!" Holly started pulling off the items that had been doused. A dark pair of socks…no big loss. A pair of her jeans. She winced. "Well, this sucks," she grumbled. "At least I don't think…" her jaw went slack.

"Holly? What is it, babe?"

"Oh _shit_!"

"Holly?" Liz was starting to sound worried.

Holly's hand trembled when she pulled Tig's dark blue button-up shirt off the dryer. It was his favorite, he wore the thing at least four times a week…and the front was thoroughly soaked with bleach. "Oh…fuck…me," she breathed.

**-O-**

Holly was in front of the bathroom mirror touching up her makeup before work when the door off the kitchen banged open.

"Hol?"

_Tig? Shit. _"Bathroom," she called.

She heard his heavy footfalls come through the house and then the tell tale squeak of the closet door out in the bedroom. She stepped out as she capped her mascara and found him elbow deep in the old footlocker at the back of the closet. He kept most of his gear at the clubhouse, but had a spare weapons cache in his old USMC trunk at the house.

"Big night?" she asked.

His shoulders shrugged as he continued rifling through his gun collection. "Just some shit to take care of."

"You hungry?"

"Nah."

Holly watched him load his sawed-off shotgun into a duffel and hoped against all hope that he'd just leave afterward. She hadn't had a chance to get rid of the shirt yet and he seemed to be in a decent mood, she didn't want to spoil that.

She retreated into the master bath and stowed all her tubes and compacts into the appropriate drawers. She heard a zipper and then a lot of shuffling and clanking that signaled Tig's departure.

"Hey," he called and Holly watched her eyebrows shoot up in the mirror. "You guys still doing that Tequila Tuesday shit at the bar?"

She grinned because she knew he couldn't see it. "Yeah. Why?"

"I dunno…" his head popped through the doorway and she wiped away the smile instantly. "Bobby said something about stopping by. Whatever." He nodded to her reflection. "I'm out."

"Be careful," Holly called after him and he snorted. She lingered a moment in front of the mirror, ghosting light fingers across the bite mark on her neck and debating the effectiveness of a little concealer. She was so used to black eyes, split lips and bruises on her head, the bite marks were like paper cuts. Didn't hurt too bad, didn't affect her emotionally. She fluffed and arranged her hair anyway. Her manager had been a little concerned and asked too many questions…

"_Holly!_"

She dropped her hairbrush and it clattered noisily against the counter. Tig was still there? But he left, didn't he? Holly sucked in a huge breath. Yelling was not good. Yelling was so not good.

"Hol!" Even louder this time. She took off at a jog. "What the fuck did you do?"

She was starting to feel panicked. _Please don't let him have found the shirt. Please, please, please…_

Holly stepped into the hall and found Tig standing in front of the open doors of the laundry closet. His hands were actually quivering as he held up his ruined, favorite blue shirt by the sleeves. The thing looked even worse now that it was dry – the entire front splattered white like it had been tie-dyed. Her feet seemed to affix themselves to the floor as she waited for him to speak. Waited for the explosion.

Tig panned his head towards her slowly and his eyes caught the fading sunlight at an angle that caused them to flare as if he were literally shooting lightening from their blue depths. The furious, hard-lined face he presented was one she'd never been on the receiving end of. Holly figured this was the soulless mask he presented right before he pulled the trigger, the angel of death that all those he'd killed had looked upon. And for the first time, she was frightened by him.

"What," his voice was just above a whisper ",did you do?"

Holly felt her palms go clammy and she worked them together. "Tig, I'm so sorry, really. It was just an accident. I was taking the cap off the bleach and it slipped, and I tried to catch it…" she was rambling and he kept giving her the stare down. She took a big, gulping breath. "Please, I'll get you another one, same color and everything, just…"

In a sudden flurry, Tig threw down the shirt, snatched up his duffel of firepower, and brushed past her hard enough to send her staggering sideways. Holly trembled as she watched him storm out of the house. The door banged in its frame and his bike fired up with a snarl.

Holly's knees shook and her teeth clacked together inside her head. Suddenly dizzy and fretful, she sat down hard on her ass and closed her eyes, trying in vain to push away the memories his actions had stirred up.

**-O-**

Three hours later, Holly was still too jumpy. She slopped tequila out of the shot glass she was pouring and cursed as she wiped up the spill.

"Holly." A warm, tan hand closed over her wrist and directed her gaze upward. Juice was in for his usual beer and conversation and he pegged her with a serious look. "What's up? You alright?"

"Fine." She forced a tight smile and moved out of his grip.

He let her go, but those big puppy dog eyes followed as she moved further down the bar.

Truthfully, she was far from fine. The loud shouts and hollers of the customers kept sounding like Tig yelling in her ears. Every time she looked into someone's face, she expected to find a menacing stare. Most days she could leave the past in the rearview, but not when he looked at her that way. Not when he was so angry. And now she saw her father in all his drunken rage and her hands trembled when she poured drinks. She was slow and distracted and couldn't seem to shake the feelings.

"Hey, look, sweetheart," a slob in a trucker cap slammed his palm down on the bar and Holly jerked backward. When she glanced up, he was sneering at her. "I been waitin' fifteen goddamn minutes for a whiskey sour."

"I'm sorry, sir," she shook her head, beyond frustrated with herself. "I'll be with you in just a sec."

"No," he leaned across the bar and snagged her wrist. "You'll get it right the fuck now!"

His pudgy fingers tight on her arm, the stress of the day…Holly panicked. She lunged, twisting desperately away from him, and he laughed. Just like her father used to laugh when she hurt. She was a pretty good shot with a gun these days and Chibs had shown her a couple self defense moves, but all that flew out the window. She was just a frightened, beat up girl again as she struggled to get away from the asshole.

He must have jumped over to her side of the bar, because suddenly Juice was in front of her. The customer released her hand and Holly stumbled back, dimly aware of Juice scuffling with the guy. Other customers were shouting and crowding around. Rodney's slightly redneck clientele loved a good scuffle, and the whoops and yells told her that someone was getting the shit pounded out of them. Breathing like a train, staring at the reaper on his back, Holly had a hard time comprehending that goofy, sweet Juice was wailing on Mr. Trucker Cap…and winning apparently.

The loud _click-clack _of a round being chambered in a shotgun silenced the room at once. Everyone seemed to freeze in mid-air. Holly watched through disbelieving eyes as blood dripped off Juice's knuckles and landed on the bar _plop plop plop. _

"Everybody get your shit together," Neil, the manager, boomed. Holly saw that he'd come out of the kitchen with his twenty gauge out and ready to do business. He hefted the shotgun towards the crowd and they scurried back across the dance floor.

Holly raked shaking fingers through her hair and stared down at her boots. She felt someone's warm breath on her forehead and was aware of Juice speaking to her, but didn't understand the words. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she recognized Neil's voice. "Take a break, sweetheart. And take your Pit Bull with ya before I have his tatted-up ass hauled out of here in cuffs."

**-O-**

The night was cool, the day's dry heat having pulled a breeze along in its wake as the sun went down. Holly rubbed her bare arms and leaned sideways against Juice as she stared out toward the street. She listened to the way he hissed when he exhaled smoke and knew he was agitated. He hadn't washed the blood off his hand and every time he moved his cigarette to his lips, she saw the red flash from the corner of her eye. So she stared fixedly at the passing traffic and tried to swallow her gag reflex.

"What's the matter? Why are you so shaky tonight?"

"Some guy just tried to -,"

"No," he interrupted softly. "You were whacked out before. What's going on with you? More flashback shit?"

Holly sighed and rubbed the tension between her eyebrows. "You could say that."

Juice was silent for a moment and she could imagine the look he was giving her. In a very low, almost choked voice, he finally asked ", what did he do?"

Holly snapped her head around to face him and found his jaw on rare lockdown. He almost looked downright mean when he got that way; all intense and ready for a fight. "What did who do?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Tig," he said stiffly. "I know that asshole has something to do with this. What did he do, Holly?"

She shook her head and pulled her arms more tightly around her middle. She was not going to perpetuate the animosity between them if she could help it.

"Did he hurt you? 'Cause I swear to God -,"

"No, Juice. He never hurts me. He just…scared me a little is all."

"A little?"

She sighed. There was no good way to explain this. "It was my fault," she said firmly, throwing his hard look back in his face. "I accidently bleached the shit out of his favorite shirt."

Juice's face softened just enough so he could wince. "The blue one?"

"Yeah."

"Ouch."

"He found it and he got royally pissed," Holly said with another shake of her head. "I dunno…it just freaked me out. Reminded me of…old shit."

"That fucker," he muttered. "He should know better, Holly, after everything, he should _know. _And where the hell does he get off being mad at you?" Juice scowled out at the night. "Asshole doesn't appreciate shit."

Holly studied his profile for a moment and silently willed him to understand. Her relationship with Tig was so beyond the realm of normal, and that was okay with her, but Juice just couldn't let it go. She felt both sorry and relieved that he didn't comprehend the binding ties there. No one so unpolluted could understand her twisted need for security, nor would she ever want him to. He was a little rough and tumble, but Juice was a good kid. He didn't need to know the inner workings of a formerly abused, slutty ass bartender with bad daddy flashbacks. He just didn't.

"Hey," she patted his leg. "Don't get upset about this. I'm fine. Tig'll get over this eventually…just leave it alone."

He gave her a disbelieving frown.

"Thank you for being my prince in there," she ghosted a kiss over his cheek. His eyes were haunted when she pulled away. "But I don't want you to get in deep shit with the guys because of Tig's bad mood. Promise you won't say anything to him?"

He sighed loudly and leaned away from her. "Holly…"

"Promise," she insisted.

His eyes cut over to the side and she could tell before he spoke that he'd relented. "You're very hard to refuse, you know that?"

She grinned her first true smile of the evening and quirked her eyebrows. "Oh, trust me, I know."

They both chuckled and for a minute, they weren't a biker with blood on his knuckles and a girl with a traumatic past. They were just friends, laughing at stupid shit in the dark.

**Two Weeks Later**

It took the third ring before Holly realized that her cell was going off and Ram Jam was actually not serenading her in her sleep. She was stretched out on her stomach and fumbled her hand across the empty expanse of bed beside her for the phone. When she finally found it, rolled over, and blinked half-asleep eyes at the glaring display screen, she realized it was Tara calling. At…she checked the bedside clock…four fifteen a.m.

"Tara?"

"Hey, Holly," the doc sounded very professional over the phone. "I'm sorry it's so late, but the guys got into some kinda trouble tonight. I'm working graveyard and can't get away, so they're bringing Tig to you."

"Tig? Wait…" she sat up as her brain started to function properly. "Is there something wrong with him?"

Tara sighed. "Jax says he got scraped up and needs a doc. Chibs thinks he can handle it, but he needs a place to work and an extra set of hands."

"Oh, Jesus, is he okay? How bad is it?" She hadn't spoken to him for the better part of two weeks, his offense at her bleach spill obviously being more severe than she'd originally thought.

"I've gotta get back to a patient, but from what they told me, he needs a good patching up." Was that doctor code for _he's seriously fucked up? _"I have a list of stuff you need to get prepped for Chibs. Got a pen?"

Twenty minutes later, Holly had water boiling on the stove and all the first aid supplies she'd been able to wrangle up on short notice. Seeing it all laid out on the kitchen table, it was a little scary that she didn't have an actual kit of some kind. She'd boiled the tweezers she used to pluck her eyebrows and one of Tig's hunting knives in place of actual surgical instruments. But hey, Chibs had been a field medic, he was probably used to second rate equipment.

She paced the kitchen in her bare feet while she waited, anxiety twisting around in her gut. He hadn't called, hadn't stopped by, hadn't checked to see if she was even still alive…and now he was bloody and broken and running to her to be patched up.

Scratch that, Chibs was _bringing _him to her. She was mad at him, and mad at herself because she knew she'd let him back in and try to get in his good graces.

Headlights pierced the darkness out under the carport and anger was again replaced with worry. No grumble of Harleys meant they were in the van, and meant Tig wasn't able to ride.

Holly opened both the wood and screen doors, and waited as a trio of Sons milled around in the shadows.

"You ready for us, luv?" Chibs called up.

"Yeah." She shielded the glaring kitchen light with a hand and tried to discern what was wrong with Tig at a distance and in the dark.

The shapes took form at the top of the stairs and Holly stepped back, holding the doors with an outstretched arm. She knew that Chibs and Juice were there on either side of Tig, figured Juice had a very disapproving look on his face, but all she saw was blood. It was everywhere; on all their hands, leaving red boot tracks on the linoleum as they staggered into the house. Tig's cut was removed and his white t-shirt was crimson all over, from his right shoulder down to his belt, the dark wetness spreading like a wave out across his stomach and seeming to grow before her eyes.

Holly couldn't stop the gasp that passed her lips. The screen door banged shut like the crack of a gun and almost covered the angry, pained sound Tig made as the boys deposited him in a kitchen chair. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge anyone else in the room.

Her chest was pumping like a bellows under her old t-shirt and she looked between Chibs and Juice accusingly. "What happened to him? Is…is he _dying_?"

"I'm not dying," Tig answered and Holly startled a bit. The gaze she met was hard, because he was always hard, but there was something else there too. Something she couldn't name but sent shivers down her arms. Almost as if he didn't want her there.

"Don't worry, darlin'," Chibs laughed. "He'll be back to his ol' shithead self in no time."

"Why are you laughing?" Holly shot the Scotsman a frown. "He's bleeding out in my kitchen and you're laughing?"

Tig lurched forward in his chair and Juice kept him from falling out, rolling his eyes and mumbling to himself. "It's not _your _kitchen, Hol!" Tig said on a snarl.

After two weeks of separation, he owed her a damn apology and not an ass chewing. She was suddenly furious. She leaned down in his face, knowing it was stupid and unable to stop. "And whose kitchen is it? Yours? Not like you're ever here, asshole!"

Tig's expression could have stopped a bus. "You better watch what you say -,"

"Or what, you'll bleed on me?" Her hands had curled into fists. All the fear from their last encounter, coupled with the incident at the bar, was morphing into anger. "Bring it on, badass. I've been slapped around my whole fucking life! Let's see who hits harder, you or my old man!"

The following silence seemed to ring. Holly quivered and waited for whatever hell he could unleash. Instead he looked away and stared at a nick on the Formica table top. "Get this over with, Chibs."

Holly felt a hand on her arm, knew it was Juice, and shook him away. "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. She risked looks at both he and Chibs and found them in mirrored stances; their heads cocked and brows crinkled up. She realized it was the first time she'd ever snapped back at Tig. It should have been liberating, but somehow wasn't. "What do you need me to do, Chibs?" she asked to get the ball rolling.

He slipped into medic mode quickly, skipping his fingers across the supplies she'd gathered and making verbal notes to himself. "Here," he handed her the box of gauze pads and urged her closer with a wave. "When I get the shirt off, go to work on the bleeding and then we'll see what we've got."

Holly waited, trembling, and watched the knife slice through the blood soaked fabric of Tig's shirt. His skin beneath was slick all over with blood and her hands shook as she dabbed. Chibs put a wet cloth in her free hand and told her to try and isolate the actual wounds from the excess blood. The angry punctures and slices started to take shape, some penetrating deep beneath the skin, exposing the whitish sub-dermal layers.

"How'd this happen?" she asked quietly.

"Barbed wire," Chibs said lightly, as if it was a normal occurrence, no big deal. "Got the shit wrapped around his fuckin' arm. Dislocated his shoulder before we could cut him loose."

She could feel the color drain out of her cheeks. "Jesus…"

"I already reset it," Chibs went on. "Gonna hurt like a mother tomorrow though."

Tig said nothing while they worked. Juice sulked and leaned back against the wall. They cleaned and disinfected. Holly watched the muscles in Tig's back jump against the sting of the alcohol and bit her lip to keep from apologizing. As mad as she was, seeing him like this was a disturbing wake-up call. He was mortal, just like everyone else. He could get hurt, was more likely to, in fact, what with his line of work. She could lose him in a heartbeat. The thought made the backs of her eyes burn.

Once he was patched and clean, Tig pulled the Tylenol and Jack Daniels down out of the cabinets before retreating into the bedroom. In the quiet, they could all hear the bed springs squeak and Holly sighed.

"Come back to the clubhouse with us," Juice said. "Don't stay here with him."

Holly didn't miss the wearied look Chibs gave the younger biker. "I'll be in the van, Juicy-boy. Maybe you'll join me after you pull your head outta your ass," he said as he tromped down the back steps.

Holly started collecting garbage from the table and wasn't surprised when Juice lingered. "Go home," she told him.

He shook his head, eyes wide and stubborn. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"Yes you are."

"Holly -,"

"Stop." She clapped her palms together under her chin, face pleading for him to walk away. "Why don't you get it?" she whispered. "You're a smart guy, Juice. Why is this so hard for you to understand?"

He looked hurt. "Because I -,"

"No. Don't go there." Holly walked around the table and leaned back against it, bringing them closer. "I'm here because I want to be. Not because I have to be. He scared me, and I got mad, but I'm not done. People fight and yell at each other…but I'm not done."

Juice rubbed both hands across his mohawk and stared at the floor. "Just promise me you won't pick a fight with him. You can't push his buttons, Holly. He's not normal. He -,"

"Isn't gonna hurt me," she finished. "I'm fine. Go home."

He gave her one last pitiful look, then left.

**-O-**

There were ropes around her wrists. Tight, biting into her flesh, blood trickling in hot streams down her upraised arms. She knew the feel of the mattress beneath, recognized the water stains on the ceiling…this wasn't happening. Couldn't be. Because Tig had killed her old man and she lived in Charming now.

But she arched her back, lifting her hips up to the sky to gain some leverage, and the ropes held. She heard the hum of the AC unit in the window, the drip of the leaky sink. Her heart galloped in her chest as she twisted and turned. This wasn't real, there was no possible explanation.

And then she heard the voices; two of them. One was her father and one wasn't. And they were coming and she knew what they intended.

No, this wasn't real. She refused to believe it, even as the voices came closer. Not real, not real, not real, no no no no…

"Holly! Hold still you little bitch!"

She screamed.

**-O-**

The scream woke Tig. It was a blood curdling, full force, horror movie scream that had him bolting upright and cussing when every muscle in his body protested. An old Marine adage came to him as he righted his battered body. _Pain is just weakness leaving the body. _Well, there was a whole hell of a lot of weakness leaving him at the moment. Keeping his patched and recently dislocated arm tight at his side, he picked up his Glock with his left hand and swept down the hall on silent feet.

The living room was bathed in shadow, a single pool of filtered light from the streetlamp making the dark corners all the more sinister. Tig could almost feel his pupils enlarge, drinking in the indefinite shapes that could have been furniture or crouching burglars. He slowed his breathing, listening for out of place sounds.

And then he heard the strained, panted breaths, the choked sobs, and knew what had happened. "Hol?" he asked anyway.

"Oh shit," her voice quavered. She sniffed. "Just go away, Tig. Please."

"Why'd you scream?"

She sniffled and sighed, but didn't answer.

"Why did you scream?" he repeated more firmly. "Is there someone in the house?"

The wood frame of the old couch groaned as she shifted around. Tig could envision her sitting with her legs curled beneath her, rubbing furiously at her tears. "I had a nightmare," she said. "I…just go back to bed. Leave me alone."

Tig let his good arm go slack, the Glock dangling useless against his thigh. Now that the adrenaline was receding, the wounds around his shoulder were starting to throb. And the Jack wasn't doing pleasant things to his head. But he was lucid enough to know that Juice had been right. Two weeks before, the punk had come into the clubhouse, mouthing off about Holly being traumatized.

"_You can't do shit like that to abused people, Tig! She's not like your whores. She's fragile."_

Fragile, no, but vulnerable, yes. He didn't have to ask what the nightmare had been about or what had caused it. And he knew that even if he didn't want to, he had to budge on this one.

Tig eased slowly through the dark and managed to set his gun on the coffee table. At close range, he could make out the silhouette of her small, huddled form and he very deliberately draped his good arm around her shoulders as he sat.

Holly resisted at first, braced a hand against his side and tried to push away. "Naw, naw," he pulled her to him anyway. "C'mon. Relax, sweetheart."

"Relax?" her laugh sounded more like a cough. "How am I supposed to do that?"

He tried, really he did, to keep his voice neutral. "Because I've never hurt you and you know it."

"I know." Some of the tension seemed to leave her body. But her shoulder shook beneath his arm. "Shit, Tig. I just…I know you're…an ass. I do. And I'm cool with that. That day…I dunno, I freaked out and then you didn't come by and now you're hurt and all the blood, and…"

"I know." He moved his hand up to pull her head to his shoulder when she started crying again. He couldn't stand it when chicks cried, but her hair was all soft and glossy under his fingers, and she was like his broken little China doll who had managed to wriggle her way past all his defensive mechanisms. And not because he hadn't tried to keep her away. He just had a very difficult time not identifying with someone even more damaged than himself.

He just sat for a moment and Holly slowly began to unwind. It took her awhile, but she eventually settled all of her meager weight against his side and one arm stole around his waist. Her cheeks were wet and he felt the dampness through his shirt.

"I don't mean to be such a pussy," she said. "You scared me, and I don't even know why, but you did."

Tig knew why, and telling her it wouldn't happen again would be a lie.

"I'm sorry I yelled," she said.

"Yeah. Me too."

"And I really am gonna get you a new shirt. Just like the old one."

Tig shrugged and instantly regretted it when his entire right side flared with pain. He'd nearly had his arm ripped off trying to evacuate once the Mayans showed up. All in all, the night could have ended very differently. "Just a shirt," he managed without letting on how much he was hurting.

Holly shifted around and her shadow blocked the window as she climbed into his lap. He was already calculating the strategic maneuvering necessary to fuck in his current state, but she tucked her head in under his chin and almost seemed to whimper. This was definitely too touchy-feely for him, but he was sore and groggy and given that he'd nearly been killed and had terrified the girl, maybe he could stomach the cuddling. At least it was dark and she wasn't trying to stare into his eyes.

"Don't die, okay?" she whispered. "When Tara called…God, I thought…and there was _so much _blood. Don't die, Tigger."

She was needy. But she didn't pretend to give him anything, didn't try and patch his soul. She had been on the receiving end of so much brutality she never questioned his lifestyle. In that respect she was a good girl. She was easy, didn't ask for things he couldn't give. She needed him, but that was all. No ulterior motives. No Old Lady crow tats or diamond rings for her. And he could live with that. Even when she bleached his favorite goddamn shirt…he could still hang.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured.

**-O-**

Tara came by the clubhouse several days later with her kit and gloves to make sure Tig was healing properly. He was in a chair in the common room, the doc hovering around him and inspecting the progress of his wounds. The other Sons were at the bar, shooting pool, or lounging on the sofas. Holly straddled a chair and winced every time the muscles in Tig's arm jumped beneath Tara's prods.

Satisfied, the doc snapped off her gloves and nodded to Tig. "Wounds look good," she said. "Holly's doing an excellent job of cleaning and dressing them. You're lucky to have her," Tara inclined her head in that meaningful way that only doctors can.

It took about a millisecond for the guys to realize what she'd just said. _Lucky to have her._

Chibs was the first to start laughing, then the others slowly joined in. Even Clay was chuckling to himself at the bar.

Tig's lip curled up in a sour expression and Holly couldn't bite back her grin. He scowled at her. "Don't let that shit go to your head," he ordered sternly.

Holly broke into true laughter. "Yeah, you neither." She glanced over and caught Tara's subtle wink. "Thanks, doc."

"Anytime," she sounded very pleased with herself. "Anytime."


	3. Jealous, Much?

**Jealous Much?**

"Like I said before, Clay, I appreciate the hospitality," Jury said as he reached for his beer again. "The boys and me don't get out of Nevada too often."

Clay nodded from his position leaned back in one of the clubhouse's wooden chairs. He drummed his fingers on the table top and surveyed the room around him. All the guys were there, and a decent sampling of broads were available for the taking. Clay shot a look at the Indian Hills President. "I'd say you're welcome, but I'm sure the pussy 'round here isn't like back home, huh?"

Jury shrugged and glanced over towards the bar. Clay had noticed him do that several times. "I dunno…I've been thinking since I lost my best girl to your crew, I might be interested in one of these."

"Really? Which one?" Clay felt a smile start to form.

Jury was a man of few facial expressions, but anticipation was plain in his eyes as he nodded across the room. "Little brunette with the nice tits. She any good?"

Clay's grin became fully formed as he watched Holly finish restocking the cooler and begin to fold up the empty cardboard boxes. "You'd have to ask Tig about that," he said with a chuckle. "Holly's his _special friend_."

"Oh." Jury's gray brows twitched. "He's got an Old Lady?"

"He doesn't like to call her that, but same rules apply. Someone touches that girl, he's gonna lose an arm."

"Shame," Jury shrugged.

**-O-**

Tig didn't like to ask people for favors, not even his brothers. He didn't like to owe people shit. But after three whiskey rocks and a whole lot of watching Juice mope his ass around the clubhouse, he was ready to put in a formal favor request. And he knew just the man to go to.

"Chibs," he said, maybe a little too loudly, as he climbed over the back of the leather sofa the Scotsman was seated upon.

Chibs looked a little bleary-eyed himself as he managed to wrestle his attention away from the woman in his lap. "Brother!" he crowed when he recognized Tig.

"How shitfaced are you?"

"Pretty 'faced," Chibs said on a laugh.

Tig felt himself smiling and didn't fully understand why. Probably had something to do with the Jack. "I need a favor, Chibs," he said, propping his elbows against the back of the sofa and leaning towards him. "Top secret."

Chibs' brows quirked, his interest was piqued. "I'll catch ya in a bit, darlin'," he told the Crow Eater. He shoved her unceremoniously off his lap and she sulked off with a disgruntled snort. "Whatcha need?" he asked once she was out of earshot.

Tig glanced across the room. Holly was at the bar chatting with Half-Sack and Jax. Juice, predictably, was staring at her from a distance, that lost look plastered across his face. "This shit with Juice is getting old," he shot Chibs a meaningful look. "It's time he moved on and quit chasing after other people's pussy."

"He does pine after your girl, don't he?"

"I'm gonna knock his fucking teeth out," Tig said bluntly.

Chibs leaned back and stroked at his goatee, eyes squinted in thought. A smile slowly started to tweak the corners of his mouth, highlighting his scars. Without turning, he yelled ", Jackie-boy!" at the top of his lungs.

"Yeah?" Jax hollered back.

Chibs purposefully didn't answer and the VP ambled over a moment later. He exhaled the last drag of his smoke and dropped the butt into his empty beer bottle as he shot a look between the pair on the couch. "S'up?" he asked without much real curiosity.

Of all the Sons Tig didn't want to involve in this…

"How would you," Chibs started with a shit-eating grin ", like to help me get Juicy-boy laid?"

"What?" Jax frowned at Tig.

Tig sighed and stared at the little punk until he looked away.

Chibs was oblivious to the exchange. He put a hand on Jax's elbow and pulled him down to a conspiratorial closeness. "Yeah, kid needs to get fucked in a major way. We all know he's been lookin' a little too long at Holly."

Jax glanced over his shoulder and Tig knew he couldn't miss Juice damn near falling off his chair as he watched Holly's ass. The VP shrugged when he turned around. "Gonna get his ass kicked," he said, conceding Tig a look that seemed to say _I don't blame you_. "But you know he won't even look at the other girls lately. All he does is take _long _showers theses days."

"Oh, trust me, Jackie-boy. My idea, it's fuckin' brilliant."

"So fucking brilliant you came up with it in five minutes?" Tig asked.

Chibs tapped the side of his head with two fingers. "Steel trap, baby."

Jax grinned. "How shitfaced are you?"

**-O-**

Holly scanned the hand of cards she had fanned out in front of her and frowned. "No threes, go fish."

"Shhhh!" Half-Sack hissed as he pulled another card off the stack. "Not so loud, man."

She grinned across the bar at him. His eyes were wide, his narrow face dead serious. His hair, as always, looked like some kind of farm animal had tried to slurp the shit like hay. "Why?"

He shot looks over both his shoulders and then leaned forward. "Because if someone finds out we're playing Go Fish, I'm a dead man."

Holly suppressed a chuckle. She didn't know how to play poker, and rather than show her, he'd suggested they pick a game she knew. He'd asked for it…

"Fives?"

He shook his head.

"Sack, why are you sitting here playing cards with me when you could be hooking up with one of these nice…" she glanced around the room. "Whores," she finished without a better word.

He shrugged and stared at his cards a little uncomfortably.

"You know, you don't do subtle very well."

He made a face. "I know."

"What's going on?"

Half-Sack did another, almost nervous scan of the crowd.

Holly sighed. "You're not a prospect anymore, they can't just force you to do stuff."

His pale eyebrows shot up.

"Can they?"

Sack wiped a hand down his chin and then cut his eyes over and rolled his head, motioning towards the group on the sofa in a very obvious fashion. He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "I'm supposed to keep an eye out tonight."

"For what?" Holly looked over her shoulder and frowned when she saw Tig conspiring with Chibs and Jax. "Kip," she turned back around and saw his eyes widen at the use of his real name. "What's going on?"

Half-Sack didn't get a chance to answer. The stool beside her scraped across the hardwood and Holly turned to find Juice settling in to her left.

"Hey," he greeted, depositing two empty beers on the bar. "Who's pouring tonight?" He looked over at Holly and grinned.

She returned the smile with a shake of her head. "Do I look like I'm on the clock? It's serve yourself around here tonight."

Juice made a dramatic show of sighing and rolling his eyes, but climbed off the stool and headed around behind the bar.

When Holly looked at Sack again, he seemed paler. Sweating maybe. She followed his line of sight and realized that Tig was shooting a death glare at the poor kid. "What the…?"

Sack sprang to his feet. "Hey, Juice, man, there's something you gotta see."

Juice frowned at Holly as he uncapped a fresh beer. "What?"

She shrugged.

"Yeah," Half-Sack started raking twitchy hands through his hair. "It's this really cool…I mean…well, it's better if I just show you."

"Yeah, okay."

The kid let out a huge sigh of relief as he headed toward the door with Juice in tow.

Juice rapped the bar in farewell. "See ya."

Holly smiled until he was gone, then spun around on her stool, lips curling into a frown. Across the room, Tig looked far too pleased with himself.

**-O-**

Tig grinned to himself as he followed Holly down the back hall. Indian Hills was in town, he was pretty lit, Chibs was going to handle his little Juice problem, and now the hottest girl in the room wanted to get dirty. He watched the faded pockets of her cut-offs stretch tight over her ass with each step she took. She was booking it tonight, boots heels rapping out a fast beat on the hardwood. He was about to get fucked silly.

Holly slipped into his dorm room and walked all the way to the window. Tig waited for her to turn around and start hiking her tank top up over her head. When she didn't, he kicked the door shut and frowned.

Tig set his beer down on the dresser and thought the _clink _might catch her attention. It didn't.

He tried to push past the fuzziness in his head and really examine her with his normal attention to detail. Holly had her arms folded, the tips of her fingers visible on either side of her narrow waist. And – the kiss of death – one booted toe was tapping against the floor.

If he were sober, Tig would have walked away from this whole pissed woman situation. But seeing as how he was slightly intoxicated and already half-hard, he'd try to work his way into her pants. And ever since the whole bleach/shirt fiasco, he'd tried to tread a little more carefully when it came to the girl. He'd freaked her out and, well…he didn't really like to see her cry.

He crossed the room slowly, expecting her to whirl on him, but she remained still. Tig clamped not so gentle hands on her hipbones and pulled her back flush against him, letting her feel how hard he'd become.

"I'm not happy with you," she said, and to her credit, she didn't cave in and lean into him like she normally did.

Tig ignored her. Her chocolate hair was draped over one shoulder and he lowered his head to nip at the exposed flesh of her neck.

"I'm serious, Tig. I can't believe you did that to Juice."

_Juice. Always Juice. _"I didn't do shit to that little dumbass," he growled. He reached forward and unbuttoned her cut-offs with angry, practiced familiarity. She moved to stop him and he knocked her little hands aside easily.

"I know you told Half-Sack to keep him away from me," Holly protested as he slid her shorts off her hips. "He's my _friend_. You need to get over your jealousy bullshit."

Alright, that did it. Now he was mad as hell.

He cupped her between her legs, noting with satisfaction that she was already wet, and banded his free arm around her waist. Tig picked her up easily and she squealed in surprise as he swung her around and deposited her roughly on the bed.

Holly scrambled to get back on her feet, face flushed with anger, but Tig didn't give her the chance. He pushed her down across the mattress, rising up over her with his hands braced on either side of her head.

"_Jealous_?" he was suddenly not just ticked, he was furious. "You're not with him, Holly! Why the fuck would I be jealous?"

Her hands were on his arms, her nails digging into his skin. Tig nudged her legs apart with his knee, unbuckling his belt with one hand. She was under him panting, chest pumping, cheeks tinged pink and eyes wide. Jealous? He'd show her just how jealous he was…

Tig repositioned his hand and lowered his body, every muscle screaming at him to just tear into her. And then something stopped him, as quick and forceful as jerk on a dog's leash. He paused, suspended above her, and took stock of her face again. Her lips were apart, trembling with each breath.

She wasn't mad, she was frightened. Again.

"Fuck me," he growled, shoving away from her and rolling onto his back.

Tig stared at the ceiling and wished it were possible to rewind the last forty five seconds. Then he might actually be getting laid. But damn if he wasn't tired of that little doe-eyed asshole slinking around and laughing and talking with his girl. It just wasn't right.

He was surprised when Holly sat up and straddled his lap. She looked like something out of _Penthouse _in her cowboy boots, tank top, and leopard print G-string. She tilted her head to the side, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. Tig put his hands on her knees and waited. Maybe this could still work out in his favor.

"I didn't mean that you were actually jealous," Holly said quietly. "But I don't get why you're so pissed. Juice really is just a friend and you know it."

He snorted. "No man is ever gonna be just your _friend, _Hol."

She frowned. "Juice -,"

"Wants to fuck your brains out."

Holly leaned back, frown deepening, and inadvertently ground her ass against his erection. Shit, he did not have the patience for this conversation. "Look, sweetheart, men and women can't be friends. It's just a fact of life. And especially not in the MC. Talk to Gemma or the doc, or hell, the damn Crow Eaters if you want a _friend_. But Juice needs to leave you the fuck alone."

She glared at him and the expression was comical on her pixie face.

"You telling me that idiot never got too friendly?"

She didn't answer and he felt his temper flare again. "He needs to learn some goddamn respect. He knows the rule; you don't mess with a brother's woman."

She was still for a moment, and then Holly surprised him again, this time with a smile.

Tig frowned. "What?"

She leaned forward, scraping her nails gently up his stomach through his shirt. She stretched out on top of him, elbows propped on his shoulders, perfect cleavage under his nose. Her smile widened. "Your woman, huh?"

_Oops. _"Shit…you know what I mean," he said gruffly.

Undeterred by his scowl, she kissed him. The lip gloss she always wore tasted sweet like cotton candy and it only took a few seconds before he was the one steering her. He twisted a hand through her hair, crushing her lips down onto his. She undulated on top of him like a wave, rubbing her pelvis and then her breasts against him. And Tig had no idea why he'd been so mad.

Holly pulled back and he let her go, knowing she'd be back. Now her face was flushed for other reasons, her lids low over her eyes. "You know there's nothing going on with Juice and me," she whispered and he felt her thumb stroke along his jaw. "I would _never _do that to you. I love you."

He'd known she was going to say those three awful words, and had she been any other bitch, he would have slapped her before they were out of her mouth.

But she was Holly. And her eyes had been saying it for a long time now.

"Are you gonna lose the shirt, or what?" he asked.

She sat up and wriggled out of her tank top, ditching it over her shoulder and then moving to the clasp on her bra. "How fucking romantic," she said with a smirk, sliding the bra's straps down her arms and then tossing it to the side as well.

"Yeah," he felt himself returning the expression. "Now get down here."

**Two Days Later**

Juice was beat. He'd spent four hours trying to wire a new stereo system into someone's car, only then to realize that the Nissan's stock speakers were shot to shit. He'd spent another hour surfing Crutchfield's website at the car owner's request. Now all he wanted was a beer, a shower, and some downtime. Then he thought he might head over to Rodney's. It was half-price Tequila Tuesday over there, and…well…he could hang out with Holly without any of the other guys being around. Not to mention he didn't like the thought of her working unprotected after he'd had to knock around that asshole customer a few weeks before.

Chibs met him at the door as soon as he entered the clubhouse. "Juicy-boy!" The Scotsman clapped a palm down on his shoulder and started steering him deeper into the room. "Just the man I wanted to see."

Juice groaned. "C'mon, man. I'm dying to take a shower."

"Naw, that can wait. I got somethin' special for you."

Juice gave him a sideways look as they walked. "Dude, that sounds kinda gay…"

"Oh, you know us foreigners." He shoved him down into a chair across from an already seated Jax, then sat down himself.

"S'up?" Jax greeted with a nod.

Juice looked between the two of them, frowning. "What's going on?"

Jax and Chibs shared a secretive look. "Should I show him, Jackie-boy?" Chibs asked.

The VP shrugged and grinned. "I think you better. Don't know if he can handle it though." He cut his eyes across the table towards Juice. "It's pretty intense."

Now thoroughly perplexed, Juice leaned back in his chair. "What the hell? Show me what?" A thought struck him and he shook his head. "Man, I swear to God, if your _something special _involves either of you unzipping your pants -,"

"Relax," Chibs rolled his eyes. He reached into an interior pocket of his cut and withdrew something that looked to be a cigarette, but Juice quickly realized was a really big blunt.

"Weed? You brought me over here about a joint?"

"Not just any joint," Chibs extended it towards him. "This is a _magic _joint."

"A magic joint."

"Aye."

"You're full of shit."

"Don't dis the stash, bro," Jax lit up a cigarette and aimed its lit end at Juice. "That's some good shit."

Chibs nodded and placed the thing in Juice's outstretched palm. "Make you forget all your problems, kid."

"Problems?"

"Yeah," Jax said. "You know, stress at work, club shit…_lady problems_."

Chibs coughed and it sounded strangely like he said "Holly".

"Fine," Juice sighed. He fished his lighter out of his pocket. "Let's see your magic shit."

**-O-**

As usual, Tequila Tuesday was hopping at the bar. Holly was coming out of the storeroom with a fresh bottle each of Cuervo Gold and Black, when she saw not just Tig, but Bobby and Clay too come through the front doors.

"Your boys are here," Liz called in a sing-song voice as she and Holly passed one another behind the bar.

"I see that," she muttered to herself. She set the tequila up against the back wall mirror and went to meet the Sons. She was always excited when Tig came to see her at work. But Clay's presence made her uneasy. The President had never been in before and she wondered if something bad was going down.

"Hey, fellas," she greeted.

Tig just nodded and she earned a "hey, darlin'" from Bobby.

Clay scanned the room with a frown. "Welcome to Hicktown," he muttered.

Holly wasn't sure if he was referring to the customers or the George Jones song on the jukebox. Probably both. "Yeah. Not y'all's usual scene, huh?"

Clay smiled marginally. "Yeah, well, we had to clear out and let the Date Doctors work their magic. Besides, I've been told it's Tequila Tuesday."

She grinned. "You were told right. You guys take any booth you want and I'll send shots over."

Clay gave her a nod of acknowledgement and they headed toward a back corner booth where they could watch the exits. Tig let his brothers lead the way and snuck a pinch at her ass as he walked by.

Holly snagged his sleeve. "What're you guys doing here?"

He shrugged. "You want us to leave?"

"No, I just…" she frowned ", what did Clay mean by 'Date Doctors'? What'd you guys do to Juice?"

He grinned nastily and moved out of her grasp. "Don't worry about Juice, he's got his hands full tonight."

**-O-**

Jax took another swig of his beer and struggled not to spit it back out as he watched Juice. Whatever the special ingredient was in Chibs' joint, it was _good_. He himself did not partake, but Juice was laughing in this high-pitched, girly falsetto and his goofball grin threatened to crack his whole face in two.

"…and then, she was all like 'you're soooo good, baby'…" Juice's story was neither plausible, nor easy to follow. He would spout random sentences between laughing fits, gesticulating wildly with his hands and adding sound effects where necessary. Twice Chibs had left the table to get his laughter under control. Chips, pretzels, and a batch of Bobby's cookies were strewn across the table. Empty beer bottles tipped every which way.

Juice took a swig of his beer and seemed to sober for a moment, his chuckles dying down to the occasional hiccup.

Jax nudged Chibs and raised his eyebrows. This was their opportunity. Chibs nodded.

"This has been fun, huh, kid?" he asked, giving Juice a play punch on the shoulder.

Juice nodded.

"But you know we have some things to talk about," Jax said.

"Talk about what, man?"

Chibs sighed and leaned forward. Watching the two of them, Chibs patient and Juice grinning like a fool, Jax was given the impression of a parent talking to a child. It was touching in a way. "We all know you've got it bad for Tig's girl," Chibs said.

Juice's face fell instantly, his frown exaggerated and cartoonish. He started to protest and Jax cut him off.

"We've all seen it, bro. And Tig's an asshole, but I have to agree with him on this."

"What are you thinking, brother?" Chibs asked gently. "You know you can't go after an Ol' Lady."

"Holly is _not _his Old Lady," Juice shook his head hard. "He treats her like shit."

Jax sighed. "That's not our problem, or _your _problem. She keeps hanging around for some reason."

Chibs nodded. "She's had it rough, Juicy-boy. You don't really want anythin' to do with that. She's not right in the head."

"Don't say shit like that about her!"

"Hey," Jax was losing patience. "We're trying to keep you from getting your ass kicked. There's two dozen chicks around here who'd suck your dick and not have some goddamn daddy issues to go along with it."

"Aw, that was a little harsh, Jackie-boy."

"Don't care. It's the truth."

Juice scowled to himself and tipped back the last of his beer.

**-O-**

The Sons stayed for a while and Holly couldn't help but worry about Juice. Tig tried to deny it, but she knew he was just as petty and possessive as the next guy, only he didn't usually handle issues with empty threats and posturing. Juice wasn't handling his obvious attraction well, but he was a sweet kid. His heart was in the right place. Holly couldn't stand to think he'd get hurt because of her.

She shot another look at the booth where the Sons were sitting. She supposed that if Tig was here, Juice probably wasn't having his fingernails peeled off with pliers. What a comforting thought.

She was pouring another row of shots, a bottle in each hand, when trouble came through the front doors in the form of three rowdy twenty-something guys. They were all dressed almost identically in dark-wash, obviously designer jeans and multi-colored, synthetic motorcycle jackets with flack padding and Suzuki logos running down the arm. Two were brunettes and the ringleader in the middle was sporting the blond Jax 'do.

The trio made their way to the bar, talking loudly and shoving one another around. Liz stepped up beside Holly with a tray and started loading it with the freshly poured shots.

"Damn," the other bartender muttered. "Don't we have an anti-douche policy or something?"

Holly chuckled and set the final two shot glasses on the tray for her friend. "Take three to my guys?" she asked.

Liz nodded and waggled her eyebrows as she walked off. "Looks like you've got more than just three guys tonight, honey."

Frowning, Holly turned around and found the three punks in stools right in front of her. All three studied her figure boldly.

"Well damn," Blondie said with a chuckle. "If I knew they were hiding you in here, I'd have stopped by sooner, gorgeous."

Oh, gag. Holly sighed. "Can I get you guys something?"

"Sure," one of the brunettes spoke up. "You can start with your number, sweetheart."

She gave all three of them withering looks. "Really? Just order a drink or leave."

"Hey, that's no way to talk to a customer," Blondie said, still grinning like the charmer he thought he was.

"You're not a customer."

He shrugged. "Then how 'bout a round of those half price Cuervos you guys were advertising out front."

Holly risked a look across the room while she poured the drinks and locked eyes with Tig. At first glance, he looked to be leaned back casually in his seat, but Holly didn't miss his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. She shook her head and smiled.

"Yeah, there's that pretty smile," the blond guy said and her expression immediately turned sour.

Holly slammed their drinks down. "That'll be three-fifty apiece when you're ready to pay," she said dismissively as she started to head further down the bar.

A hand closed over her wrist and she froze, squeezing her eyes shut against the momentary panic. _You're okay, you're okay, you're okay _she chanted to herself. She slowly opened her eyes and turned back to the guy.

He was grinning still. "Baby, please don't go," he said with a smirk.

A sudden confidence surged through Holly, one that hadn't been there the night Juice had helped her out of an alarmingly similar situation. She had a funny feeling that confidence was a direct result of the man staring at her from the back booth. Damn, how could Tig ever worry about her going for Juice?

She leaned forward and clapped her free hand over the one holding her wrist. She smiled, almost evilly. "You're gonna want to let go now."

He chuckled. "Really? Why's that?"

Holly's grin widened when she saw a heavy, ringed hand slam down onto Blondie's shoulder.

The guy let go of her as he jerked his head to the side, glancing up to meet Tig's stare.

Holly felt something like excitement lick through her and wondered if she wasn't a little sick for feeling that way.

"What's goin' on fellas?" Tig asked with a nasty grin.

The blond guy tried to look casual and shrug, but Tig's hand made the move difficult. "You know, just hangin' out, having some drinks."

"And flirting with the bartender, huh?" Tig nodded toward Holly. "She's pretty fucking hot."

"Oh yeah," Blondie said.

Holly bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

"So," Tig glanced over at one of the friends and then back at the lead jerk-off. "You guys ride?"

There were nods all around.

"Me too. Whatcha riding?"

Blondie's face lit up. "Aw, man, we just got us R750s. Hot as shit."

Holly recognized the sheer delight behind Tig's smile. "Can I see 'em?" he asked.

**-O-**

After a few shots and another toke or two, Juice was back to laughing and making a fool of himself.

Chibs glanced up when he heard the clubhouse door open and smiled when he saw who it was.

Emily Duncan had her honey curls pinned up and tucked away beneath a dark, straight wig. Her black lace bra was visible through her white tank top. Ragged cut-offs and cowboy boots completed the look. Chibs shot her a wink as she sashayed up to their table.

"Hey, boys," she drawled. "Am I late to the party?"

Chibs caught Jax's grin as Juice did an over the top double take. "Hot _damn_," he said with a whistle. "Who the hell are you?"

"You remember Emily," Chibs prodded him in the arm. "Don'tcha?"

Juice squinted and tilted his head. "Aren't you blond?" he finally asked.

The Crow Eater grinned very patiently and knelt so they were on eye level. "Yeah," she purred, running a hand up his thigh. "But I hear you've got a thing for brunettes lately."

Juice grinned and looked back at his brothers. "She looks like Holly with her hair like that," he said in a very loud stage whisper that he shielded unnecessarily behind his hand.

"We know," Jax said.

Juice got this far-away look on his face. "Holly," he mused. "I think I'm in lo-,"

"Shut up!" Chibs knocked him on the arm hard. "Go with Emily."

Emily stood and managed to bring Juice staggering along with her. He followed, more than a little dazed. She shot a wink over her shoulder as they headed down the back hall. "I'll see you guys later."

Jax waved at her. "See ya, darlin'," Chibs offered.

When they had disappeared into a dorm, Jax and Chibs shared a look. Then they both burst into hysterical laughter.

Jax laughed until there were tears at the corners of his eyes. "Oh shit," he finally managed. "That was awesome, bro."

**-O-**

Tig returned thirty minutes later and took up Blondie's former seat at the bar.

"How're their bikes?" Holly asked, withholding a grin.

Tig shrugged and accepted the Bud she offered. "Waiting for the tow truck."

"And the guys?"

"Waiting for the paramedics."

Holly leaned across the bar and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

When she pulled back, he was frowning.

"That's why," she said with a smile.

"Why what?"

She sighed. "Do you really want me to say it out in public?"

Catching on, his eyes widened. "No."

Holly tilted her head, studying him. He was one of the meanest looking men she'd ever seen; those eyes, that hard face. And even if he never said it, even if he didn't think it, his willingness to put people in the hospital was worth more than any words. He would always have her back and she would have his. What a fucked up couple they were.

He arched his brows. "What?"

"You want another shot?" she asked, shaking herself loose.

"Absolutely."

**-O-**

Juice woke up with a pounding headache and gritty eyes the next morning. He shifted around and realized that he was in bed – whose, he didn't know – and that there was a warm body beside him.

He rolled his head to the side to look at the woman who lay dead asleep on her stomach. Emily Duncan had been hanging around the club for awhile now, and there had been a time when he'd wondered what it would be like to spend an evening with her. He'd gotten his answer last night. And Chibs' description of _130 pounds of cock-riding giggety _had been pretty damn accurate.

Juice squinted as he studied her. She was older than him, starting to look a little rough and overdone. Her wig had slipped and now the dark roots of her died hair were obvious in the early morning sunlight. Great tits though. And very ambitious in bed.

Juice had been so fixated on what he couldn't have that he'd been missing out on what he could. Last night didn't mean that he didn't want Holly, but why deny himself?

Fumbling for his pack of smokes and lighter on the nightstand, Juice knew that Holly would never be his. Did the thought sting? Yes. But when he thought about what he'd done with Emily, he knew he could get over it.

After all, he was a Son. And Sons didn't go after a brother's woman. Especially not Tig's woman. Damn, maybe he was a little retarded.


End file.
